Vacated
by Hoodfabulous
Summary: Edward's a lost soul looking for more. Bella's an incomplete puzzle trying to find her missing piece. They both find what they're searching for in each other during Bella's Spring Break, but is it enough?
1. Chapter 1

**Vacated**

 **Chapter One**

" _There's an echo pulling out the meaning_

 _Rescuing a nightmare from a dream_

 _The voices in my head are always screaming_

 _That none of this means anything to me"_

" _Bored to Death" Blink 182_

 _Edward_

Digging the balls of my feet deep into the sugary-white sand, I push myself against a warm breeze. Beads of sweat tickle the dip of my lower back, and gather on the unshaven bristle above my upper lip. The song I'm listening to dies away, and for a sweet second I'm rewarded with the sound of the gulf lapping at the beach. Laughter and music dwindle somewhere in the distance, and I grit my teeth at the intrusion of lost tourists, cruising the coastal roads in search of a more popular destination town along the Emerald Coast. Destin. Pensacola. Anywhere but here, in this quaint, scantily inhabited town of Santa Nora, Florida.

The pause between songs in my iPod ends, replaced with the belting lyrics of some unknown song. Each slap of my feet against the sandy ground beats in time with the pound of the drum, the strum of a guitar, and the frustrated wail of the singer, and for a moment I'm not Edward Cullen, living in some soon-to-be incorporated gulf-side town, driving his worries away during a daily run. I'm not empty. I'm not alone. I'm just a normal high school senior pounding the beach in time with the music blaring from my earbuds. I don't hurt. I don't feel pain. I have an amazing girlfriend with killer curves and a warm, wet, welcoming mouth. I have two loving parents and two siblings I'd die for. There's nothing missing inside. The tightness of my chest at night doesn't exist. I'm young. I'll live forever. I'm transcendent.

Except I'm not.

The burn of my calves and the tender ache of my hamstrings matches the fire raging inside my chest, but I don't cease running. One song trips into another one. Sweat from my forehead blinds my eyes, but I blink away the blazing sensation and travel onward. I pass a couple other runners, some older, some young. They wear their Fitbits and these intense expressions on their face: eyes narrowed forward on some unseen obstacle or destination, eyebrows shaped in a deep V, arched and pointing toward their nose, droplets of sweat dripping from said nose. I wonder if they run to remember, or if they're like me: running to forget.

I don't slow until I spot a pier glowing in the distance. The springtime sun blisters away, leaving a hot soreness to my already sun-damaged skin. Slowing to a jog, I press my thumb against my arm, watching the pink transcend into white and then pink again.

Less than ten minutes later I'm approaching the pier. Purple lights sparkle from the salt and wind-worn wood. Long, tan legs and bare feet dance back and forth in the salty breeze. She smiles down at me: white teeth against tanned skin, sun-bleached, too-blonde hair, and generous tits barely hidden underneath a thin, white shirt. Even in the setting darkness, I see her nipples: dark, round, porny.

She stands and saunters down the public pier, her smile still on mine, but very much aware of the effect she has on the men she passes. They watch the bounce of her breasts, the sway of her hips in those frayed denims so short they might as well be bikini bottoms. Her fingers walk along the wooden handrail until her bare feet hit the sand and she's standing right in front of me. She pulls the earbuds from my ears, and drapes them over my shoulder.

"Hey, baby." Her breath is a whisper on my ear.

We've dated for two years, but this is all we are: whispers and erections, kissing and seduction. Aside from the superficial, she's a stranger to me, and vice versa. I know she's an only child. I know her father left when she was just a kid, and her mother remarried a dentist. I know she's following me to college after graduation, and she's told my sister she expects us to be married one day.

But there's so much I don't know.

I don't know why she cries sometimes when she looks at the sunset, or why her skin turns clammy whenever I attempt to have a serious conversation about anything. I don't know how she can love me without knowing a single thing about me, and I'm not talking about the simple stuff, like what my dad does for a living, or my brother's middle name. I'm talking about the serious stuff, like how confused I feel about religion and politics, or my lineage. The fact that at the age of twelve I found out I was adopted, and how I wasn't informed by someone I love, someone I trust. I found out from Ben Cheney, a guy on the baseball team, and the biggest dickhead around. He'd tormented me all season about it, until I bloodied his nose and sat out the last two games inside the dugout.

She kisses my lips, and my thoughts fade around the edges. All those things seem so unimportant when her pouty lips touch mine. Warmth and wetness invades my mouth as her tongue tickles mine. I grab her ass, because that's who I am with her: stroking her heavy curves and sticking my dick wherever she'll let me, and she's the kinda girl who lets me stick it anywhere, so why was I complaining earlier?

"Your parents out tonight?"

I nod, and she smiles, already knowing the answer to her question before she asks it. My parents are young for their age, and vibrant. They love going out on Friday and Saturday nights, leaving their teenage kids to our own devices. This is the perfect setup for teenage debauchery, and although I partake in it—regularly—I don't necessarily enjoy it outside the moment.

"I've missed you." She drags my right hand from her ass, placing it on her breast. Leaning into me, she kisses me again, her hand palming my dick through my gym shorts.

A woman in her thirties pads by, scowling and dragging her giggling, staring kids behind her. Embarrassed enough to push my girl aside, but too horny to piss her off, I take her loving hand and entwine my fingers between hers, leading her from the shore and up the sandy hill.

"Someone's eager," she says, her voice soft and laughing, caught up in the breeze.

I toss a smile over my shoulder and ignore the strain of my dick against my shorts. It's easy to do, surprisingly. Easy to go limp, even with a bouncing, over-exuberant blonde tagging along, ready to suck and fuck all night. Easy to do considering she hasn't noticed or doesn't care that I haven't uttered a single word during our entire exchange.

~oOo~

The bay behind my house is quiet tonight, aside from the soft sounds of Spanish music flowing from the back patio of the house next door. I stand on the dock overlooking the bay, a longneck in one hand, my hair in the other. The creaking strain of bare feet slapping against wood behind me alerts me of her presence.

"You brought Brains home again, huh?" My kid sister, Kate, snatches the beer from my hand and stands next to me. She's fierce in the early moonlight: studded nose-ring glinting off the white orb in the night sky, her blonde hair a stark contrast to the pink and purple hues streaking through and through, trailing into choppy, uneven ends.

"What an unfortunate nickname you have for my girlfriend." The words are thick and scratchy from the disuse of my speech for so long. Clearing my throat, I steal my drink back and take a long pull.

"What an unfortunate girlfriend." Her face pinches in disgust, then blossoms into interest. "No, you know what? This is great. A new subject for my vlog: why good guys pick bad girls."

"You're not vlogging about my relationship," I say in a warning tone. My sixteen-year old sister vlogs about everything frequently and without a filter.

"Come on, I'll give you a nickname to keep ya incognito." She quirks her pierced lips into a thoughtful pout. "She's Brains and you're Brawny. How's that?"

"Unimpressive and unimaginative. I thought you wanted to be a writer."

"I wrote out a grocery list today," she says, dryly. "Technically that's enough to qualify me as a writer."

"You underestimate yourself sometimes." I down the rest of the beer in one long gulp.

" _I_ underestimate _my_ self? Hypocrite much?"

Someone across the bay slams a door too hard. The sound echoes off still waters. Dogs bark. Then more join the chorus. Kate's right; I'm a hypocrite. I drown myself in a girl who cares little about anything other than herself.

"Why do you do it?" she asks, as though reading my mind. A light flickers on behind us and we turn. My bedroom window casts aglow. Rose's perfect body frames the window, her curves darkly illuminated by my bedside lamp.

"I think it's the mystery of it all," I say. "The mystery of Rosalie Hale. Every time I learn an insignificant little something about her, I think I'm chipping away at the mystery."

"You've always loved a good mystery, but Rose is no mystery." Kate takes the empty bottle from my hand, and steps backwards on the dock. "Rose is a vanity, an illusion."

"Yeah, what do you know about it?" Feeling suddenly defensive, I follow her down the dock.

She turns her back to me, but I feel her smirk from behind. "Because I know girls like her. Hell, I've _dated_ girls like her. Tits bigger than her brains. I also know she's thumbing through your college acceptance letters as we speak. Pretty sure I saw her toss a couple into the wastebasket beside your desk."

"What the _hell._ "

I elbow my way past my laughing sister. The dirt stuck to the bottom of my bare feet irritates my soles against the tiled floor when I step inside from the back patio. The sound of _Corruption_ , Jasper's latest video game, screams from his bedroom. I pound my fist on his door once as I walk by, an old habit since childhood. He calls my name from behind the door, but I don't slow down. Not until I'm facing the girl peeling open another letter.

"What do you think you're doing?"

She glances up. Wide, innocent blue eyes stare into mine. I waver. Almost cave. Fucking fickle, I am. A vanity myself, unsure of who or what I am without this girl by my side. But I feel it in the air: a monumental moment. A moment of change. Something's about to go down, and someone's about to get hurt. That emptiness inside sways, and a rush of excitement infiltrates the deadness inside my chest.

"What do _you_ think _you're_ doing?" Rose crumbles a letter inside her fist and tosses it into the trash. The envelope flutters to the ground. She picks up the remaining stack and flips each one. "Mississippi State, Tulane, University of Virginia, Virginia Tech, Virginia State … what the fuck's up with Virginia?"

"I was born in Virginia. Lived there until I was four." I make a go at the envelopes clutched in her hand, but she holds them above her head, dangling them like a prize. At six-foot two I only tower over my statuesque girlfriend by a few inches. Refusing to give in to her silly game, I roll my eyes and flop down on my bed. I don't expect her to ask about my Virginia comment, but I'm still disappointed when she doesn't.

"You have a full ride to UF. You'll be running for one of the top track and field teams in the nation." Rose lowers her arm, and tosses the remaining letters in the trash. She parks her supple ass on the edge of my bed. I pretend not to notice. "In a few weeks we'll be looking around for a place in Gainesville, a place together. What's the point of keeping any of these?"

I pick up my cell from the windowsill, tapping at the screen until I find the app that controls the sound system in the room. A familiar song yells in a low, angry roar from the speakers, a song about being bored to death, and maybe that's what I am: bored with this existence. Bored with being Rosalie Hale's boyfriend and nothing else. Bored of being her eternally hard dick and drag-along boy.

"I'm not going to Gainesville. Not in a few weeks to look for an apartment, and not for the fall semester."

Rose smiles and it's one of those placating, grandmotherly type smiles, the kind you give a kid when he says something dumb, but he's so fucking cute in his innocent ignorance that you can't help but give a pitying grin.

"You're in one of those moods again. One of those weird moods you get in sometimes." She places a hand on knee. Her long, pink nails tickle the hairs on my leg.

"One of those weird moods I get in since _last summer_ ," I say, pressing her to press me, but she doesn't.

Tapping her nails on my leg, a thoughtful expression flits across her face. "This is my fault, I've been too intense." She bites her bottom lip, sucking the succulence between her teeth. "I've been talking it up for so long. You're tired of hearing about it, huh? That's why you're looking at other colleges." She scratches my leg with those nails, and it feels the way it always does: torturous and nice.

"You don't listen. You never listen."

Rose blinks, and stares at me as though seeing me for the first time. "You think I don't listen? I do. I listen and I see. I know about last summer, you know. I know about you and that girl."

The strum of my heart beats in overtime, killing that dead vibe. "You know about Tanya?"

"Was that her name? Tanya?" Rose says the word like a romantic poem. "Yeah, Ang Webber saw the two of you down at the dunes."

"And you never said anything?"

Shrugging, she looks away, right at the orange gator-head symbol mounted on the wall. "You got it out of your system, right?"

Dragging in a deep breath, it comes out more like a frustrated groan. "You think I hooked up with Tanya?"

"Does it matter?" Those blue eyes of her blink out, and I don't even know this girl anymore. No, I _never_ knew this girl.

Still, I touch her chin, turning her face to look at mine. "Tanya's my sister. My biological sister. She contacted me last year, and we met up."

"Oh." That blank expression doesn't change. There's no relief, no questions. Her eyes shift from mine and down to my lap. Her fingers creep from my knee and underneath my shorts. I showered after my earlier run. Showered and changed clothes, and if it's up to her I'll be out of these clothes again soon, because that's what she does: avoids conflict and conversations by tempting me with her touch, with her mouth.

Tonight's different.

Placing my hand over hers, I stop her sexual pursuit. "Rose, I'm running out of reasons why we should be together."

"We've been together since we were sophomores," she says, as though this excuses everything always left unsaid.

Past Rose's shoulder, I see Kate standing in the doorway. She's shoveling colorful cereal from a bowl and into her mouth. She pauses long enough to give me a lopsided smile and flip Rose's back the bird. Milk splatters her shirt and the dark hardwood underneath her feet. She leans on the doorframe, looking entirely unconcerned with the frown I toss her way. Finally, she rolls her eyes and pulls the door almost shut. Jasper's video game noise intensifies down the hall. I close my eyes and picture the two of them: Jasper leaning forward on his gaming chair, cursing into his mic, Kate curled up on his shaggy rug near his feet, spooning the last of her cereal into her mouth. The two of them waiting on me to join them, to hear my daily complaints about my dull life.

Rose pulls her hand out from under mine. "I should go, give you some time to come to your senses." She toes on her flip flops and tosses her platinum hair over one shoulder, pausing near the doorway, but not turning around.

"You know I'm right," I say, softly. "Neither of us feel the way we should feel about someone we love. Hell, we've never even said the words."

"Didn't think I had to say the words to show you how I felt." She grips the doorframe like a lifeline, still not looking back, and for a second I'm blinded by her words. Does this girl love me? I've always assumed she does, but she's never professed it. Does she really feel the way for me that I've so been desperate to feel for her?

Rose waits. She waits for me to speak again, because that's me: the one who wants to talk his way in and out of things, the one who needs the words, not the actions. But for the first time in our relationship I'm speechless, and all I want is for her to leave. I want her to leave so I can join my siblings in the next room. I want to sit on the floor next to Kate, dodging pieces of soggy cereal she flicks my way. I want to join in on the battle Jasper's waging on the television screen, to be as mindless and numb as my brother is, the kind of guy I once was before meeting Tanya and opening my eyes to all the hurt that exists in this world.

Still, she doesn't turn. She doesn't curse or scream or let out a broken sob. She doesn't beg me to change my mind. She picks up her phone from the desk beside the door and walks down the hallway, pounding my brother's door herself one last time.

* * *

Preread by Jonesn. Weekly updates unless inspiration presses me to write faster. Alternating POV. Santa Nora only exists in my mind, but the Emerald Coast is very real and gorgeous!


	2. Chapter 2

**Vacated**

 **Chapter Two**

 _"I'd never felt it_

 _I'd never heard it_

 _I know I loved you_

 _Did I even deserve it_

 _When you returned it_

 _There's no suspicion_

 _No hesitation_

 _Believing through the eyes of_

 _sore adoration"_

 _"Human Performance" Parquet Courts_

 _Edward_

After Rose leaves, I head to Jasper's room and spend the night dodging not only that soggy cereal I knew Kate would throw my way, but also her endless amounts of questions. I fall asleep on Jasper's bed, an Xbox remote in one hand, his sheets bunched in the other. The sound of grenades and gunfire from the screen doesn't numb me the way they should, the way it has in the past. If anything it heightens the pain, makes me hyper-aware of the emptiness in my girlfriend's eyes.

On Saturday morning, I awaken to the same sound. It's difficult to distinguish the time. The daily sight of the boats bobbing on the bay is blocked out by Jasper's dark black-out drapes hanging dolefully from the windows. Jasper's hunched over in his gaming chair, elbows on his knees, headphones draped around his neck. His late-night gaming buddies undoubtedly gave in to their more human needs sometime during the night. Jasper rarely gives in to his.

"You still at it?" Sitting up in bed, I groan at the unfamiliar pains attacking my body. My brother's bed didn't mold to my body the way mine does, leaving it sore and tired.

"Are you talking to me?" Jasper dips his hand into a bright orange bag on the floor beside him, and scoops out a couple cheese curls.

"Who else would I be talking to?"

"Yourself, I guess." Shrugging, he never deviates his eyes from the screen. "You've been talking all night."

Kate always teased me when I was younger about my endless night time ranting, swearing she could hear me all the way from her bedroom, even waking her from a dead sleep sometimes. Years have passed since she last mentioned me talking in my sleep.

"Really? About what?"

"Rose and her amazing ass." He chomps on the curls. Pieces of it drift down his bare chest. "She does have an amazing ass."

"You gonna take my girlfriend now?" _Or is it ex-girlfriend?_ Forcing a smile I don't feel, I climb out of the bed and deposit myself on the rug beside him. "It's like a repeat of the third grade again. You stole Bree Tanner from me."

"And her sister," he reminds me, gloating. "Don't forget her sister."

"How could I? They were twins."

"That was fifth grade for you, not third. You were in fifth, I was in sixth. Where'd the Tanner twins move to anyhow? Texas?"

"Yeah, broke your little prepubescent heart." I reach for my phone on the entertainment center and check the time. Twelve noon. Damn, I kinda slept for ten hours. Dozens of missed texts pop up on the screen. All of them from Rose. No missed calls. Texts are easier. Informal. A call would mean she truly cares about hearing my voice.

"Not really," Jasper says.

"Huh?" Already forgetting what we were discussing, I put the cell down and hunt for the remote. I gesture that I want to join in on the game, but he just stares at me blankly.

"It didn't break my heart when they left."

"Of course it didn't," a voice says from the doorway. "You'd have to first have a heart for it become broken."

I toss a pillow at my sister, but she jumps out of the doorway just in time. Snickering from behind her camera, she disappears down the hallway. Sounds of her laughter and our parents voices drift from somewhere in the house. Dishes clank together, and my stomach knots, but not in hunger.

"You care if I join you?" I ask Jasper, waving the remote around again.

"Yeah, it's about time. I need a wingman during this next quest."

The rest of the day crawls by at an excruciating pace. I drown my woes alongside Jasper by playing Corruption on his Xbox, only taking breaks whenever Kate toddles into the room pointing her camera in my face and asking me inane questions about her childhood.

"What's this for?" I shield my face from the zoom of her camera until she lowers it. The click of her diamond-studded thumbnail shuts it down.

"I'm making a biopic of my life. You know, for when I become a famous writer." Kate nods, her rainbow-colored hair bobbing with the motion.

"You might wanna edit out your half-naked brother." I nod at Jasper, who hasn't moved from his gaming chair undoubtedly in his underwear, but tightly cocooned in his favorite comforter so all that's visible are his bare arms, chest, and shoulders.

Jasper doesn't blink at my statement, and it's not because he's wearing his headphones, or because he doesn't hear me. Jasper hears everything. He hears everything from the scratch of a pen against paper in the next room, to the buzz of a fly bouncing against the screen window two rooms down. He doesn't blink because he's in his zone, more in tune with this game than he is any living, breathing person in his bedroom.

"You need a shower," I whisper at him, so low I doubt even Kate can hear me.

"Why?" he whispers back.

"Because good hygiene is highly important."

"Why?"

"Because it is. Do I need to break out the chart?"

"No, not the chart." He cracks a smile and slaughters an enemy onscreen. "I'm not a kid in need of a color coded chart. It's Saturday. Let me be lazy."

When he was a kid, mom made him this colorful chart with a list of things he must do each day. And they were intricately detailed. No simple "brush your teeth." More like "get your toothbrush, toothpaste, and floss. Wet toothbrush. Put toothpaste on brush. Brush teeth. Brush front of teeth." Etc, etc. And my brother would. He'd follow each detail listed, brushing the front and the back and making sure to do so in a circular motion as she'd instructed on the chart situated beside his bathroom mirror. Then he'd go back to his room, sit at the little keyboard he was always fond of as a child, and he'd break into the Chopin's Etudes without missing a key. He was eight. That was before he discovered video games.

"You can't boss me around, Edward," he continues. "I'm older than you. You should respect your elders." There's that smile again, the one that makes all the bad inside me after my weird night with Rose seem minute.

"By one year, Jasp."

Jasper blinks his tired red eyes, and his smile remains fixated on his face. Kate's plopped herself on his bed sometime during our exchange, her camera panned in on our brother.

"Do you like my hair, Jasper?" Kate fingers her bright hair, and I notice for the first time that it's a little shorter than usual. "Just got it cut this morning."

"No."

"No what?"

"No, I don't like your hair."

"Why?"

"Because it's asymmetrical and unappealing. Sorta like you." His smile grows.

"Insulting your sister. Classy." Kate's lips curl downward. "You don't like me anymore?"

"Not typically." That smile of his fades, but mine stretches, and now I'm chuckling. Kate shoots me a glare, then turns her attention back to our brother.

"Do you like other girls, Jasper?"

"Kate—" I warn.

"What? It's just a question."

Jasper's cheeks burn red, and he laughs. "You mean the way you like girls?"

Kate gives him a soft smile. "Yeah, the way I like girls."

Jasper scrunches his nose in thought. "No."

"Do you like guys?"

"Kate." My warning tone is louder this time.

"Ew, gross. No," Jasper replies, bursting into laughter. "Gay people are weird."

I gauge Kate's reaction to his blunt statement, but she appears unaffected. Not that'd it do any good if she were. Jasper doesn't understand the narrowing of eyes, the pursing of lips, the temperamental way she turns red before bursting into fits of anger. He has a difficult time picking up on the cues of others, even those he's lived with the majority of his life.

"You can't say things like that, Jasp," Kate finally says.

"Why not? It's true."

Kate shakes her head. "It's not true."

"It's _his_ truth," I tell her, the urge to protect my brother overbearing.

"Why do you do that?" The camera shakes in my sister's hand.

"Do what?"

"Pacify him and the situation. One day he's gonna say the wrong thing to the wrong person and he's gonna get slugged."

"Wouldn't be the first time. And have you seen this kid fight?" I lightly punch my brother in the shoulder. "This guy's a killer."

Jasper beams, and doesn't even brush away the skin-on-skin contact. When he was a kid, a pat on the back, a good ole punch in the shoulder would make him squeamish. And if someone hugged him? He'd tense and break into fits of anxiety.

Jasper smiles smugly at the screen and then glances at me. "The only times I've gotten into fights is when I was protecting you."

Snickering, I lean back against the bed and cross my socked feet. True. I was always the hothead of us three, especially after I found out I was adopted. I'd dropped out of sports for a couple years afterward, spent most of my time banished in detention for whatever stunt I'd pulled that week. Kids avoided me; thought I was trouble. That's before I found running, back before high school and track and field. And then I became solitary. Until I started dating Rose.

I'd been in my fair share of fights back then, defending myself mostly, and Jasper was always my savior. Jasper was always the most popular of us two in high school. The girls loved him, and it's difficult to see how they couldn't. The guy's funny without even trying, and decent looking to boot: naturally sunbleached-colored hair, deep dimples, big blue eyes, and a smile that'd lighten anyone's load. He always had plenty of friends, just lacked the ability to understand how to hang onto them. Sure, he had some weird social issues when he was a kid, but Jasper somewhat learned over the years how to mimic those around him, how to blend. It was sort of my mom's thing, teaching him how to be different from himself. Teaching him how to be like other people.

My mom was always relieved that he did well in public school, even at his most awkward and uncomfortable of moments. She'd rehash tales of her high school days, how all the kids deemed different were usually picked on by others, peers and teachers alike. Back then being an anomaly was a nightmare. And sometimes in some situations it still is. But where we're from being an oddity since birth makes you the prom king, like Jasper was his senior year.

There's a long bout of silence, aside from the screams of our victims onscreen, before anyone speaks again, and of course it has to be Kate.

"Are you gonna miss Edward when he leaves?"

I resist the urge to hiss her name again, curious myself to hear his reaction. Jasper raises his eyebrows and shrugs.

"You're really leaving?"

"Meh, one day." I frown.

"Will you call?"

"Sure."

"And you'll visit?"

"Yup."

Jasper side-eyes me with a grin, his fingers still working the buttons on his remote. "Can I have your old room? It's better than mine."

I burst into laughter, but Kate lets out a frustrated moan.

"Come on, Jasp. Will you miss him?"

Jasper frowns. "Yes, why wouldn't I?"

I reach behind me, grabbing a pillow and hitting my sister with it. "Leave him alone. He's not a science experiment."

"Doesn't it worry you? The way he reacts sometimes? The way he doesn't react? When Nana died he didn't even bat an eye. I doubt you moving will bother him at all."

"He can hear you, you know? That's not impaired." I stop playing the game. Let some kid slaughter me onscreen. Jasper shoots me a disapproving frown, but doesn't slow down on his massacre.

"Nana's death made me sad," Jasper says. "I wanted to cry, but I couldn't. You don't think I want to cry? I hear Edward crying sometimes, and it makes me angry. Not that he's upset, but that I can't cry with him. I have an exceedingly _difficult_ time crying.

"I have feelings," he continues. "Too many feelings." And that's enough to make Kate leave him alone.

She turns her onslaught onto me, and I'm honestly relieved, not only because the heat's off Jasper, but because I'm fucking embarrassed to hear him confess he hears me crying sometimes.

"I heard you last night. Telling Rose you're not going to Florida State this fall." Kate points the camera at me.

"Can we not … talk about it today?"

I stare at the screen unblinking until the light from the television burns the back of my eyes. Kate gazes at me for a few beats, and lowers her camera. "Let's go out tonight. I'm tired of seeing you wallow, and I'm tired of walking in on Jasper in his underwear."

"No one invited you in here anyway," Jasper says.

I grin at his remark. "Go out and do what exactly?"

Kate smiles, slow and mischievous. "Live. Something you haven't done in the past two years."

"Only if I can wear my favorite shirt," Jasper pipes up with an infectious grin.

Kate cocks her head to one side. "You're going out with us?"

"Even if I say no, you're gonna make me anyway, right?" He looks at her.

Kate nods. "Yup."

"Okay," he replies. "But only if I can wear the shirt, and only if we're back by midnight."

"Why midnight?" I ask.

Jasper nods at his television screen. "Because the cyclops spawns on the hour every hour. Given the proximity of local bars, and the fact that when we typically go out it's nine o'clock at night—give or take fifteen minutes—that gives us approximately three hours to drive to the bar, order our food and drinks, exchange polite conversation with people loitering around, and get back in time to slaughter the resident spawn. The two of you can get out of my room now."

I blink at his last sentence. Blink and laugh. "Why do you want us to leave?"

"Because I don't want you in here anymore. Knock when it's time to go out. And straighten my rug before you leave. It's crooked."

I toss my unused remote on his fuzzy rug and stand, stretching. Moving the rug around until it's parallel to his entertainment center, I say, "I'll knock when it's time for you to _shower_."

~oOo~

Later that night, Jasper drives us to the bar. He pulls into the lot, parks the car, and presses his face against the glass. "It's loud inside."

"How do you know?" I ask.

"Because I can hear it."

Kate groans from the backseat, but the sound is short lived. The three of us go silent. I strain my ears, and can just make out the sound of music in the distance.

"It's like he has superpowers or something," Kate whispers.

"If it's too much when can go someplace else," I suggest, shooting our sister a frown before she can argue. Because I know she'll argue. Narrowing her eyes, she crosses her arms over her chest and slumps against the backseat.

"No, it isn't too much." Jasper's voice is soft.

"You're not gonna freak out on us, are you?" Kate cocks her head to one side. "Look, if the music is too loud and you feel like you're gonna come unglued, earmuff it, okay?"

Jasper nods and presses his hands over his ears, testing out an old childhood trick of his. Dropping his hands, he peers at a brawny, long-haired man climbing off the solo motorcycle in the parking lot. "This isn't a gay bar is it? Is that an androgynous male?"

"It's a dude with long hair." I clamp one hand on his shoulder, laughing. "This isn't a gay bar, I promise. The owner's cool and never cards us."

"Us?" Jasper raises his eyebrows.

"Em and I come here sometimes." I frown at my sister's muffled snort.

"You sure this isn't a gay bar?" Rolling her eyes, she reaches for the door handle.

"We come here as friends. Completely platonic. Real funny, Kate."

Kate shrugs, but her smile doesn't waver.

Jasper blows out a relieved sigh. "Okay, great, because I've never been hit on by a guy. I wouldn't know how to react properly."

"You'd smile, politely turn down his advances, and explain that you're the most boring heterosexual male in existence," Kate pipes up from the backseat. I'd defend him, but she's already opening her door and stepping out of the car. Jasper's staring at the entrance of the bar like it's the gates of heaven. Or maybe hell.

"I'm excited," he confesses. "You think I'll meet a girl inside?"

"I thought you didn't care about girls."

"No, I do. I just didn't want to tell Kate. She'd ask more questions."

Laughing, I open the door and join my sister outside. Jasper locks the car and pockets the keys. He leans on his heels for a couple beats, then surges forward to the entrance with Kate and I falling behind him.

The old bar sits on the east side of the bay, with the light from the moon glinting off the rippling darkness. Boats bob on the nearby dock, and drunken people lounge around the outside tables. Bursts of laughter and catcalls fill the air, bouncing off the resounding silence of the dense trees hiding the bar from local passersby and tourists. We walk inside the aged, wooden building, and I suck in a deep breath, basking in the diversion of my second thoughts of Rose. Ever since breaking things off the night before, I've wondered if I'd made a mistake. I wonder if I should have returned her texts today. Maybe she was ready to tell me more, to tell me the things about her that I've never known. Maybe, but probably not.

Lights strung over a busy bar blink on and off. An old jukebox blares the crooning voice of a dead country singer. There's a couple dancing on the dirty dance floor. One guy, one girl. The crowd's thin yet compact. People keeping to themselves. Perfect for my brother. Except for the noise level. I eye him, but he seems unfazed: eyes bright, scanning the room in anticipation.

 _Is he mimicking what he's supposed to do, or is he genuine?_

Kate winds her arm through mine and grins up at me. She pokes a wide-eyed Jasper in his back.

"Find us a table."

"Okay." Jasper's head turns right, then left. His blonde curls are haphazard, curling too long on his neck. I need to take him for a haircut soon.

"Quit bossing him around," I say once he's gone.

"Why? Look at him. He's so excited."

"Because bossing people around is rude, and yeah, he's an excitable guy. Obviously not the most boring heterosexual male in existence."

Kate grins again. Jasper waves at us from a table near the left side of the building, next to a wall. There's a few other tables scattered around nearby, but only one occupied, and by a girl with short dark curls, and matching black clothes. Silver jewelry shines from her ears, from her fingers, and she's engrossed in her cell. Her features are as small and uncondensed as the building where we stand, and delicate. The way she lifts her eyes and glances around the room tells me she's bored, that she's used to being surrounded by different people, in a different scene. Kate's arm tightens around mine when the girl catches her eye. Their gazes lock a beat too long, but then the girl's attention returns to her cell. My sister's arm unhinges itself from mine.

"Great. She probably thinks we're _together_." Kate scowls, crosses her arms, and lurches across the room. The dark-haired girl never looks up. Sighing, I shove my hands deep in my pockets and follow her to the table.

"Edward, you sit here." Jasper's sandwiched between two chairs. The arrow on his shirt points directly to his left, the direction where he tells me to sit. He's holding a sticky plastic drink menu in his hand. After climbing onto the high stool, I hand him a couple napkins without him asking. He gives me a grateful smile.

He drops the menu on the table, taking his time scrubbing his fingertips. "You really think they'll serve us beer?" His eyes swoop up to meet those of a waitress, then awkwardly swoop back down to the menu.

"What'll it be?" she asks, standing so close I can smell her hair. Jasper presses his lips together, fingers twitching, his gaze locked on the menu.

"Two drafts." Grinning at the waitress, I jerk my head in the direction of my kid sister. "And one Shirley Temple."

"Son of a bitch," Kate swears, and the waitress laughs.

"Two drafts and one Shirley Temple coming up."

She twists her lips and lowers her eyes down my body before swishing away. Jasper half hides his face behind the menu, only moving it once the waitress turns her back. He follows the sway of her ass across the room until she disappears behind a massive guy manning the bar.

"Is it messy as it looks online?" Jasper asks.

I glance around the room for a spilled beer or something, but there's nothing. "Is what messy?"

Jasper raises his voice above the music around the time the song ends. "Sex."

Someone near us snorts, and I turn to see the dark-haired girl looking down at her cell. At first I believe she's overheard Jasper's question, but then I notice hearing aides in her ears. I doubt she heard what Jasper said over the low rumble of talking and laughter surrounding us. And even if she did, I fail to feel any embarrassment. Too used to Jasper's random, inappropriate questions by now.

Turning back to the table, I smirk. "Yeah, if you're lucky."

"Please stop talking." Kate shudders. "Nothing kills my buzz like hearing my brothers discussing their sex lives … or in Jasper's case, lack thereof."

"It always looks messy online." Jasper drags his fingers through his hair, and leans back in his chair. "Messy and sticky. You know how I feel about sticky stuff."

"You watching porn again?" I lower my voice as the waitress makes her reappearance. She leans past me, passing Jasper his drink. He stares down at the table, unable to meet her friendly gaze. Her breasts rub against my arm, and a slow smile uncoils on her face. Raising my eyebrows in response, I tip the beer at her in appreciation and take a long pull.

"Sorry, kid," she tells my sister, pushing a red drink across the table. "We're all out of cherries."

"Pity." Kate glowers at her, unwraps a straw, and stabs the ice.

Shrugging, the waitress walks away. I open my mouth to repeat my question to Jasper, but something jars my chair.

"Sorry, man." A large warm hand clamps my shoulder, squeezing it too tight. I resist the urge to push away his sweaty palm. The weight of his touch disperses, and I force a friendly smile.

"Hey, no problem." I crane my neck and take a good look at the guy. He's the same long-haired biker from the parking lot: big barrel chested, late twenties, and making himself right at home at the dark-haired girl's table. He folds his arms on the table, beer swaddled in one beefy hand. The girl looks up from her device, interest piqued by the way she flexes her neck.

"Hey, there," he says, leering at her over the rim of his beer. "You're not from around here, are you?"

The girl cocks her head to one side, narrows her eyes, and shakes her her minutely. Tapping one of the devices hooked around her ear, she shakes her head more forcefully.

"Holy shit. Are you deaf?" The guy raises his voice, each octave bringing a burn simmering up my spine. "Can you read lips?" He's practically yelling.

"If she wasn't deaf before she sure is now," my sister says loudly, but the guy doesn't seem to notice.

Squinting her eyes at the guy, the girl shrugs and gazes back down at her phone. Her thumbs fly across the screen.

"You can't hear anything I'm saying, can you?" The table rocks under the guy's weight. The girl glances up from the phone, a dumbfounded expression on her face. He leans forward, so close his nose is almost touching the phone in her hands. "Nice tits."

The girl shakes her head again, and holds one palm open in question.

"Leave her alone," my sister speaks up before I can. Her lips are stained red from the drink, and there's a pensive glare in her eyes.

Jasper watches the exchange, a jovial expression on his face. When the biker looks directly at him, he turns his head and drums his fingers against the table.

"What'd you say?" The guy looks at my sister, his sinister grin growing. He turns his beer in his hand slowly, in a contemplative way. The girl sitting across from him follows his gaze to my sister.

Kate gives him a lazy frown. "I said leave her alone."

"You should put your girlfriend on a leash," the guy tells me, turning back to his table-mate.

"And you should lower your voice and learn how to talk to women." I'm fully facing him now, muscles tight and ready to unfurl. His expression turns lethal, and I expect him to reach out, slam one meaty fist into the side of my head, shamefully giving my brother the one cue he definitely knows how to read after all these years.

The guy's intense gaze cracks. He lets out a bellowing laugh and chugs down the remainder of his beer. "Learn how to talk to women, eh? What's it matter how I talk to her? Like I said, not like the dumb bitch can hear me, can you?" Grinning at the frowning girl, he raises his voice again. "Can you?"

"Fucking fine," I mutter, standing and rolling my shoulders. "Let's go."

The guy blinks, his face twisting in bewilderment. "Huh?"

"Outside."

"You're serious?" A gradual grin grows on his sweaty face. "What are you? Buck seventy? Buck eighty?"

I give him a grin to match his own. "Buck big enough to kick your ass."

The dumb asshole laughs. "You wanna fight me over some deaf bitch you don't even know?"

Fingers curling into fists, I take a step forward, coiled and ready to go. The song on the jukebox changes, and thank God it's not another eighties country hit. Nothing like getting your ass pummeled to the soundtrack of shitty music.

"I'm about to hit this guy, Jasper," I warn my brother. In the past, I never gave him much warning. But fights of the past happened at school, and this place is nothing like high school. Music playing, fists flying, and an overcrowded bar make for one overwhelming scene, and I don't want my brother freaking out when the bottles start flying.

"You are? Why?" A chair scrapes the ground behind me. The oversized man facing me gives me an odd look.

"Because he's insulting this girl and I have to teach him a lesson."

"But he said she has nice tits." Jasper bites his bottom lip, avoiding the deaf girl's eyes. "And she _does_ have nice tits. Almost as nice as your girlfriends'. How's that an insult?"

Before the big guy can crack a laugh or throw a punch, before my sister has a chance to worm her way between us and threaten to call 911, before this guy proves he can kick my ass any day of any given week, the oddest thing happens.

The deaf girl laughs.

And she doesn't just laugh. She throws her head back, one hand flat on her belly. Tears gather in her eyes and spill over her cheeks, and she's looking at my brother. Giving him that look that I've seen a million times before in the very same way each time.

" _Almost_ as nice, huh?" She plucks a napkin from the silver dispenser on her table and blots her face. My mouth falls open in shock, and the big guy stares at her with a blank expression. Somewhere behind me, Kate snorts.

"Plot twist." Jasper grins. "The deaf girl isn't so deaf."

The blank expression on big boy's face melds into something else. Face reddening, he turns his attention back to the girl, grabs the table with his beefy hands, and shakes it. His forgotten beer bottle teeters atop the presswood, and the girl's laughter dies away.

The guy's practically in her face again. "You dumb—"

Before he finishes his sentence, there's a commotion at the entrance of the bar. Lots of shouting, excited voices fill the air. I glance to the entryway, meeting the gaze of various strangers and a few familiar faces. They look past me to the tall man lumbering over the tiny table threatening an equally tiny girl.

"Michael," someone calls and he turns. "Someone slashed your tires, man."

The biker utters a loud swear. Turning from the table, he pushes his way through the crowd and into the direction of the door, but I barely acknowledge the motion, all my senses dulled. Dulled because of her.

She walks into the building, phone in hand, lit from her palm bright as a star. I don't understand how no one else notices her, the way she creeps between moving, panicking bodies like a ghost passing through walls. She's small in stature and in size, but everything about her is enormous: big smug smile, big endlessly deep brown eyes, big waves of mahogany-colored hair falling well past her shoulders and down her back. Her oversized white shirt hangs off bare, tan shoulders, and exposes a sliver of brown belly. She saunters through the crowd, and I think of Rose, but not because her saunter reminds me of my overtly sexual girlfriend. I think of Rose because this girl is the mirror opposite. She saunters without an agenda, without a hidden meaning or purposeful sexualty. And when she meets my curious gaze, there's a flicker of poorly-veiled interest there: a raking of her eyes down my body, a curling of an already mischievous grin. But the connection lasts less than a second, and before I know it the girl's pulling herself onto a bar stool next to her friend.

"Can you believe someone slashed the tires on that motorcycle outside?" She flips her hair over one shoulder and refuses to meet my curious gaze.

"I take it you got my text," the 'deaf' girl asks.

"I did." She looks up from her phone, staring at me, her eyes lingering. "What's your name?"

It takes me a second to understand she's talking to me. "Edward."

"Edward." She says the name like she's testing the taste of it on her tongue. She places her cell on the table and leans back on the stool. The wide neck of her shirt drapes lower, revealing the beginnings of the soft mound of her left breast. I tighten and harden in places that's only been reserved for one girl, leaving me feeling skittish, otherworldly. Not Edward.

"You wanna dance with me, Edward?"

Bewildered, I glance around the room. People are still crowding near the door. An old eighties hair band belts from the jukebox. The couple previously dancing on the dance floor are gone, and the small area now stands empty. A big man's curses can be heard from somewhere outside the building. And my brother's earmuffing it all underneath his hands. I meet the girl's gaze again, and those eyes of hers tell me something. Something I can't hear, but I want to hear. I want to hear it again and again and again.

"Yeah," I say, barely registering Jasper's whimper. "I want to dance."

* * *

Preread by Jonesn. She's got me totes excited with her love of my characters. I hope y'all feel the same love.

I know I said alternating pov, but Edward's still talking to me atm, so we'll see.

Thank you all for the amazing reviews. I read and cherish each and every one. Love seeing the familiar names reading and reviewing over the years. Yes, y'all have made your mark on me.

See y'all sometime next week.


	3. Chapter 3

Vacated

Chapter Three

 _EPOV_

The girl leads me across the bar to a dirty patch of linoleum near the jukebox. One eighties song bleeds into another, and she smiles. Placing her arms around my neck, she sways to a too-fast beat to be dancing so slow. Her face rests against my chest and I can smell her hair. Magnolias and cherry blossoms. We dance for a while, neither of us speaking. Her body feels so strange against mine. She's shorter than Rose. Thinner and more lean. Not as soft, but nicer. Somehow nicer.

The song ends, and she glances up at me. "I'm a huge fan of epic things."

"What kind of epic things?"

She jerks her head in the direction of our tables. "What you just did back there. Defending my friend."

Pursing my lips, I pretend to ponder it. "As epic as cutting someone's tires?"

She laughs. "Vandalism is nothing. Standing up for what's right? That's everything."

There's a minute of silence, followed by the pounding rhythm of Poison flowing from the speakers. Her hands slide down my arms until they're grasping mine, and she's walking backwards to a side door I've never noticed before. She kicks open the door, and it takes everything within me to stare straight ahead. I feel the pull of my brother behind me, the constant weight of concern for him pressing down on my shoulders.

Salty, humid air swarms around us, thick as soup. The rusty-hinged door swings shut behind us, swallowing up the scent of cheap beer and cheaper women. She kicks off her shoes and leads us down a beaten path. Light from distant houses glint on the bay.

"Where are we going?"

Her fingers twist in mine as she turns around to look up at me, never fully letting go. "There's a dock back here. I saw it when Alice and I pulled up."

"Alice … that's your friend? And you're?"

"Bella." Her fingers twist away from mine, and she rakes them through her dark hair.

I tell her my name, although she doesn't ask for it. She smiles back at me, but says nothing. Colorful Christmas lights glow dimly in the distance, the strands forever wrapped around the handrails of an old rickety dock. The wood creaks underneath our feet with each step we take. She reaches the end of the dock first. Leaning over the rail, her hair drapes across her shoulders, outlined by the light of the distant houses, glowing docks, the moon. Then she leans back. She's got all her weight on one leg, the other bent at the knee. She turns her head, and leaves her elbows resting on the railing. Catches me checking her out. A burn crawls up my neck. Looking away, I shove my hands in my pockets.

I feel the wickedness of her smile, and when she speaks that burn transforms my pulse into an erratic throb. "Tell me about this place."

I look at her face, careful not to follow the outline of her body from her toes up. "Santa Nora?"

"Yeah."

"What about it?" I join her at the railing, and peer out across the bay.

Bella shrugs and turns to face the quiet bay. We're twin outlines, both bent forward, hunched on the rail. One taller, leaner. One shorter, all soft curves and potential sins.

"Just … tell me about it. You're from here, right?"

"Yeah, and you're not." Smirking, I avoid the way she looks at me.

"Nope, but I might as well be. Hailing from a tourist town myself."

I can't stop myself this time. I glance at her, curious and anxious for more. She lacks the deep Southern accent I'm accustomed to, but there's a twang there. One thing I know, she's not from here.

"Tourist town, huh? But not a Florida tourist town." Narrowing my eyes in thought, I watch the rise of her eyebrows. "Not Mississippi, Louisiana, or Alabama. Southern, but not deep South."

"How do you know that?"

Shrugging, I turn back to the bay. "You hear all sorts of dialects when you're from a place like this. People from all over come here to escape their lives. Usually in passing on their way somewhere more popular."

"You didn't answer my question," she points out, and I don't miss that she doesn't offer up more information on where she's from.

Sighing, I shrug again. "What's there to say about Santa Nora? Just a sleepy little coastal town."

"Seems nice. Quiet," she murmurs, and in one swift movement she's sitting down, swinging her legs over the edge of the dock. Her bare feet skim the surface, disturbing the water. I join her on the edge, feet drawn underneath me.

The thump of bass pounding uphill behind us makes me laugh. "Quiet unless you're hanging out in old honky tonk bars. Starting fights and cutting tires."

"Hey, I wasn't the one who started the almost-fight." Bella licks her bottom lip, staring straight ahead. "Thank God for that almost fight, though. I needed an outlet."

"An outlet?"

She leans her head against the wood, staring into my eyes. "An outlet. You know, to drown the noise inside your head. Everyone has noise. Everyone has an outlet. And if they don't, they need one."

"And yours is vandalism? Disorderly conduct?"

Smirking, she shakes her head. "Not necessarily. Sometimes it's dancing. Sometimes it's speeding down the highway in my old convertible. Sometimes it's cutting tires." Smirk growing wider, she leans in my direction, her mouth so close to my ear I feel her warm breath dancing along my cheek. "Sometimes it's ..."

"It's what?"

Her wet, warm lips touch my earlobe. Closing my eyes, I dry-swallow the urge to stop her. My girlfriend's name plays on loop in my mind. Rose, Rose, Rose. And I hate myself for loving the way this girl's teeth capture my earlobe, loving the way she sucks and licks and bites. I touch her, telling myself I'll push her away, but instead I drag her closer, pressing my lips against hers.

She's only here for Spring Break. Rose will never know.

Guilt conspires against me, forcing me numb for one monumental second. But that long second eventually passes, and I come alive again, burning against her mouth. Her tongue tastes like sweet and sour candy, like she's been sucking SweetTarts an entire car ride from wherever she lives. I kiss her harder, and she giggles against my mouth. The sound causes me to pause in uncertainty until she pulls me back, begging me for more. Her fingers work their way to the nape of my neck, curling into my hair and tugging my head back. Staring up at me, her lips skim one corner of my mouth, dragging their way to my jaw and then my neck.

"I don't usually—"

"Uh huh," she says knowingly, as though she already knows the lame thing I'm about to say, but it's true. I've never been "this guy," the kind of guy who kisses a girl he's just met, the kind of guy who hooks up with random Spring Breakers. And that's what this girl is: a Spring Breaker. She reeks misfit teenage tourist, something I normally find nauseating.

"I run," I mumble, foolishly nervous as her palm flattens on my upper thigh. So close. So fucking close. "That's my outlet."

She pauses, the grip on my hair loosening. She stares at me, and it's different. She's a different person. There's no devilish smile, no heat to her eyes.

"Why do you run?"

"Like you said, an outlet."

She tilts her head to one side. "But specifically. Why?"

No one's ever asked me why I run. People assume I run because I enjoy running. They think I run to keep in shape. They believe I run because it's something I excel at. But not one person in my life, not my parents, siblings, even Rose has ever asked me why I run.

That heat works its way back up my neck. "To forget about my shitty life."

Bella nods. She doesn't roll her eyes, or stare at me in confusion. She fucking nods and looks back at the water.

"Are there sharks in the bay?"

Raising my eyebrows at the change in topic, I nod. "Yeah, sometimes. The dolphins usually chase them out, but they still sneak in. Rays too."

"That's too bad." She splashes her feet in the water, staring at it with a familiar longing. "I love swimming at night."

"You should stay out of the bay, unless you want a dolphin to drag you down to their rape caves."

Her eyes widen. "Rape caves?"

I give her a skeptical stare. "You've never heard of the dolphin rape caves?" She shakes her head, and I mirror her with a shake of my own. "Damn tourists. People should be warned before going into the bays. Dolphins are notorious for dragging people underwater into their rape caves. If you don't believe me, you can Google it."

"Are you serious?"

"Fuck no." I laugh, and she hits me. Hard. I rub away the burn. "Admit it. You believed me for a second."

"You're an ass." But her smile tells me she likes it.

We're quiet for a while. I'm the one who breaks the silence. "If you really want to swim, you should come back to my place. We have a pool."

Withdrawing her feet from the water, she tucks them underneath her and looks at me. "Okay."

"Huh?"

Smiling, she says, "Okay, I'll come back to your place."

"Really?" I'd said it out of politeness, not really expecting her to take up my offer.

"Yeah, why not?"

"Because I'm a stranger?" I laugh.

Bella's smile softens. "You're no stranger to me."

~oOo~

A couple hours later, Kate stares at our pool from behind the glass patio doors, a stolen beer clutched between multicolored fingertips. "You gotta be kidding me."

"Don't start," I mutter from the nearby bar. Bottles of Peach Schnapps and Vodka clang together as I mix a couple drinks. Girls like fruity drinks, right? Or is that just Rose? Shaking my head, I mix up the ingredients for Sex on the Beach, because fuck.

Kate's dumbfounded expression twists into a knowing smirk. "My big brother's about to experience his first real booty call. Oh, my God. This … this deserves a photo."

Abandoning the bottles, I dig around in the fridge for the juices. "Kate, for the love of God, leave your camera out of it. Please, for one night."

"Nope. No way. This is going in the photo album, kid."

By the time I spin back around she's gone. I catch a glimpse of her bright hair ducking into her bedroom down the hall. Groaning, I mix the ingredients together and wonder if Bella's ever had a Sex on the Beach. That thought leads me to thoughts of sex with Bella, this girl from where? I don't even know. And is this a booty call? Am I really this guy? My heart churns, and a presumptive smile gloats its way onto my face, worming away when Rose's blue eyes glare at me from the back of my mind where I've tried to bury her. Fuck my life.

Before Kate can make a reappearance, I'm elbowing open the sliding doors, carrying two drinks in my hands. One for Bella, and one for her friend, Alice, who's sitting on the edge of the pool in a pink bikini. Jasper's standing at the far end near the diving board, speaking to Bella, whose feet dangle from the end of the board. Whatever he says makes her toss back her head and laugh. Her eyes meet mine, and I calculate the look. The hair on the back of my neck stands, but then I relax. Her laughter is authentic, and her smile is blinding. I join her friend on the edge of the pool, passing her a glass.

She takes the drink, swirling the little straw around the pinkish liquid. "Hey, thanks, kid."

For some reason she calls me kid. Called me kid the moment Bella and I stepped back inside that old bar and I invited her over for a swim. Kate picked up on the nickname, and now it's stuck. And it's kinda funny that she calls me a kid. The girl looks younger than my sister, but swears she's eighteen.

"You're technically my elder," I point out, talking to her but still watching Bella. Jasper strips off his "I'm with neurotypical" t-shirt, kicks off his flip flops, shimmies out of his jeans.

"Jasper … likes swimming in his boxers," I say. "Something about the material in swimming trunks ..."

"You'll hear no complaints from me." Alice sips her drink, kicking the water.

I palm my face a little, wondering if I should explain why Jasper doesn't like the material used in most swimming trunks, but I decide against it. Doesn't matter. No reason to divulge anything to this girl none of us will ever see again.

"So." She blows out a breath, glancing at me. "Sex on the Beach, huh? Pretty presumptive."

Jesus, I knew it. I over analyzed this entire situation. They're just a couple of girls wanting to hang out on Spring Break. There's no booty call. No sexual outlets. The drink in my hand makes me feel foolish, and I consider dumping it into the pool, but then she laughs.

"Relax, I'm kidding." Alice toys with the straw between her teeth, her eyes thoughtful. "You're different from most guys. I can tell."

I wipe the condensation from the glass with the pad of my thumb, cooling my feverish skin. "Nah, not really."

"Yeah, you are. You're … nervous." Alice's eyes crinkle at the edges as she smiles. "It's cute."

"Cute? Great, just what every guy strives for. To be compared to a puppy."

Alice laughs, and takes another sip. She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, still studying me. "You've got a girlfriend, don't you?"

Fuuuuck. I think my heart must stop for at least ten seconds straight before kicking into overdrive. I sit the drink down on the concrete beside me.

"It's complicated."

"Complicated as in?"

I blow out a sigh. "As in I'm not sure if I have a girlfriend or not."

Alice finishes her drink. "Complicated indeed."

Chuckling, I glance at the hearing aide tucked inside her right ear. "Can I ask you a question?"

"You just did." She's smirking. Her and her cocky little fifth-grade comeback skills.

"Back at the bar, why'd you act like you were deaf?"

Alice's eyes focus on the girl in the distance. "I don't know. I like fucking with people, I guess. Bella's idea, actually. Started when we were kids, when I started losing my hearing, and when she-." Shaking her head, she picks up the straw from her empty drink, and twists it into a knot. "We did some pretty dumb stuff back then. Still do. Bella says you can tell who a person really is at the most uncomfortable moments."

"What do you mean?"

"The biker guy, for instance," a voice says. I glance up and there she is, stooping down until she's sitting beside me, her arm brushing against mine. I pass her the drink, and she continues. "That guy showed his true self when he didn't think Alice could hear him. And he continued to show his true self when he realized she did. He was an ass. And you … weren't."

She tosses the drink back. Condensation drips from the glass and down the slight curve of her neck. I follow the drop with my eyes as it crawls down her skin, dipping and disappearing in places I long to touch. A splash nearby jerks me from my stupor. Jasper bobs to the surface of the water, tossing me a hearty wave. A genuine smile pushes its way to my face, and I wave back in response.

"Your brother's cute," Alice says.

"You really like that word," I reply.

Laughing, she nods. "Yeah, but he's cute-cute. Alice cute. You're-" She leans forward, throwing Bella a sneaky glance. "You're Bella-cute."

Glaring at her friend, Bella hands me her empty glass. "You got anymore of this … what's it called?"

The glimmer in her eyes tells me she knows exactly what it's called. She's forcing it out of me.

"Sex on the Beach."

"Yeah, Sex on the Beach. Will you fix me another?"

I reach for her glass, but she clutches it against her chest and stands, offering her hand. I take it, and she's leading me again. Leading and I'm following. Forever following.

The house is cool when I step inside, and Kate's nowhere around. I half expect her to pop around the corner any moment, camera recording or snapping shots of us at the bar, but her bedroom door is closed down the hall, and there's no strip of light glowing in the small space between the wood and the floor.

Bella checks out the wet bar, eyes wide open. "Damn, that's a lot of liquor."

Shrugging, I reach for the silver bowl filled with ice. "My parents are alcoholics."

"Really?"

"No, not really." I laugh, and she elbows me, grinning. It feels easy and familiar, and the strain of what-the-fuck-am-I-doing eases away for the moment.

"What are they like? Really like?" she asks.

I toss a couple cubes of ice into her glass. "Young. Happy. Free."

She raises an eyebrow. "They're not as uptight as you?"

"You think I'm uptight?"

"More uptight than most guys I know."

"How many guys do you know?" It's a loaded question. I can hear it in my own voice.

"Enough," she says, sliding the vodka my way. "Where are they now?"

"Who?"

"Your parents." She rolls her eyes.

Laughing, I shake my head. "Some 'I love the 90s concert or something."

Her eyes widen. "Salt-n-Peppa? Vanilla Ice?"

I snap my fingers and point at her. "Yeah, that's it. You know about that concert?" There's no way she's from around here. Can't be.

"They tour all over, not just in fuckawesome places like Florida."

I shove the drink across the bar in front of her. "Mississippi."

"Huh?" She picks up the drink, touching the glass to her lips.

"The concert's in Mississippi, not Florida." Leaning on the bar, I grin at her. "In a not so fuckawesome town."

"You're a smart ass."

"Sometimes. Why aren't you wearing a swimsuit? Thought you wanted to go swimming? Wasn't that the whole point of coming to my house?"

"Is that what you think?" I really came here to swim?"

"Isn't it?"

Smiling and downing half her drink, her eyes move away from mine to scan the room around us.

I glance around self-consciously. There's a couple old family photos hanging on the walls, but nothing too embarrassing. No pics of me in my awkward, pre-teen gangly stage, complete with glasses, crooked front teeth, and braces. Thank God for contacts, braces, and Proactiv.

"So your parents are out of town for the night?"

"For the weekend, actually." Busying my hands, I put away the various bottles of liquor. The weight of her stare makes my hands unsteady. "They spend a lot of time away on weekends."

"Why?"

"Why what?"

Bella polishes off the rest of the glass. She crunches an ice cube between her teeth. "Why do they spend a lot of time away?"

"I don't know." Shrugging, I wipe the counter down, then toss the towel on the counter near the sink. "I think they're secretly ready for us to all leave for college or … for whatever."

"And when will that be?"

"I graduate this year. Kate's got a couple years left."

"And your brother?"

I hesitate, blowing out a breath. "He graduated already."

"Is he still living here?" Bella's brow wrinkles with my nod. "Why?"

"Jasper … I don't know what Jasper'll do with the rest of his life. He doesn't function well on his own."

Bella's forehead smooths. Her entire face softens. She stares down at the empty drink in her hands. "Yeah, I get that." Bella glances back up, her expression tender. "Neither do I."

"You seem like you do okay." I break into a grin, remembering the way she was at the bar.

The tenderness fades into a smile. "You think I'm wild, huh?"

"Maybe a little."

"And reckless?" She pushes away her empty glass, reaching for my hands. Taking them in hers, she winds her icy-cold fingers through mine. That reckless smile of hers is gone, and there's something different about her eyes, different in the way she stands. "Edward? Don't you ever get tired of it?"

"Of what?"

Shrugging, she says nothing, and the nothingness of it all makes me think. Don't I ever get tired of it? The great "it?" The responsibilities, the worries? The heaviness of my flawed relationship with Rose, the flawed relationship with my bio family? Don't I get tired of waking up in this God-forsaken town every day? Don't I get tired of wanting to leave but having nowhere else to go?

"Yeah," I say, and she looks up. Our eyes meet, and I see she knows that I understand what she means. "I get tired of it."

Grimacing, she stares back down at our joined hands. "I wish I could escape, but it follows me everywhere. Seven hundred miles from home and it's still here."

The sad, enigmatic girl standing across from me swallows me whole. Her sorrow crushes me, makes me want to do something, anything to keep her afloat. "What's the craziest thing you've ever done?"

Raising her eyebrows, she's quiet for a couple seconds. "Hmm … probably the time I slept with a boy I barely knew."

My heart stutters inside my chest. "You do that a lot? Sleep with guys you barely know?"

"No, not a lot." Her hands squeeze mine. They're no longer cold now. They're warm, but still wet from the drink. "Just the one time."

"What made him special?"

"He was nice. Gorgeous. Considerate and courteous. Brave. And horny." She grins, and the stroke of her thumbs along the back of my hands drives a fire thrilling through my veins.

"What was this guy's name?"

"I never caught his last name," she says, looking at my mouth. "But his first name was Edward. We met on Spring Break."

Throat tightening, my voice dulls almost to a whisper. "Where'd you meet?"

"At a bar. He invited me back to his place to hang out, but I knew what he really wanted."

Jesus, this girl. "What'd he want?"

Bella shrugs. "What everyone wants. Same thing I want. To forget about life for a little while. To replace the pain with pleasure."

"Did he help you? Find … pleasure?" I almost stumble over the last word, sure I've never said it before. "Did he make you forget?"

A slow smirk curls on her face. "Take me to your bedroom and let's find out."

 _ **Preread by my boo thang, Jonesn. Speaking of Jonesn, she's writing a kick ass drabble you should check out. She's also one of my prereaders for an upcoming OF romantic-comedy novel I'm publishing soon. I have a page on Facebook (Jae Hood), Amazon, and Goodreads for anyone interested in following for novel release updates. :)**_


	4. Chapter 4

Vacated

Chapter Four

" _Sweet dreams are made of this …_

 _everybody's looking for something."_

 _Sweet Dreams ~ Eurythmics_

 _Bella_

Hand in hand, Edward leads me to his bedroom at the end of the hall. His bedroom isn't a boyish mess. His bed is made, and the air smells clean. He fumbles with his phone, searching for just the right music before placing it on a dock near his bed. I smile at the action, and at his nervousness. I've never met a boy so nervous who looks so good. He's beautiful really. All lean muscle and sweaty palms. A boy ready to kill a man for disrespecting a stranger, yet lacking enough confidence to do what any other guy woulda done by now.

I wander around his room as some dumb music fills the air. It's all moody and sad. Whining voices. Stuff I listen to when I'm down.

"You like this music?"

"You don't?" He picks up his phone and taps the screen. It's cute, how he's worried about the soundtrack to our fucking.

"I like eighties music."

Edward gives me a bewildered look. "Why?"

Smiling, I give him a half-shrug. "I dunno … maybe because my mom loves blasting eighties music while she cleans our house? Guess it rubbed off on me over the years."

Edward nods and I take his phone. I scroll down the music app he's got open until I find the perfect song. I tap it and hand it back to him, my smile turning into a full grin as he frowns.

"Really?"

I nod. "Really."

He wrinkles his face in thought. "Is she saying sweet dreams are made of _cheese_?"

I snort. Full-on snort. I don't think I've snorted since the sixth grade. "Sweet dreams are made of _this_."

Wrapping my arms around his neck, I touch my lips to his. The leanness of his body melds into mine, and when his tongue touches my own, I hear nothing. No music in the background, not the constant ringing in my ears. No thoughts. Just wetness and warmth.

I break away and give him a promising smile. His eyes follow me as I check out the rest of his room.

Tacked to a large corkboard hanging above his desk are photographs of what I assume are his parents. Photographs of him on a large boat, holding some weird fish like a trophy. There's photographs of his sister, photographs of his brother, photographs of all them together. But mostly, there's photographs of a girl. A beautiful girl, one of those girls you just know lives an easy, expensive life. The type of girl who knows how to work her body, work her smile, work her magic. The kind of girl who can snap her fingers and life happens the way she wants it. The kind of girl a guy like Edward would date.

I pluck one of the photos from the board, tilting it so that the light from his open window no longer glares on the glossy paper. Alice's laughter flows through the window, and I smile at the sound. And my smile grows the longer I stare at the photo, because this is perfect. This is so perfect.

"This your girlfriend?" I don't look up, don't turn when I ask him the question.

"I'm not even sure anymore." He sighs, and it's a struggle. I get that he's the kind of guy forever with an internal struggle.

He touches the photo. Takes it from my hand and tosses it face-down on his desk. And then he surprises me. His fingers grasp each side of my waist, finding my flesh under the flimsy shirt I'd thrown on this morning. Twelve hours. Maybe more. That's how long I've been wearing this shirt. It smells like my perfume and summer sweat and the bag of Twizzlers I worked on during the drive down here. My heart is racing and I've never felt more alive, like I could fly right out the roof of his house.

Edward's movements slow, and fear wallows in my heart. "Maybe we shouldn't."

His right hand sort of slips away from my waist, but I grasp it, pop open the button of my jeans with my free hand, and press his palm against my belly. No longer relenting, his fingers inch their way down, no longer needing my help. I suck in a satisfied breath when his fingers on one hand find my clit, and his fingers on the other finds my breasts. He rubs the little nub. Rubs it until my knees become weak and my breast becomes sore from his palming. We both stumble to the bed, laughing as we fall atop the covers in a tangle of limbs. And I like that he's taken. Lessens the complications of remembering him other than a one time thing. A summer crush. A boy I'll think about in twenty years when someone mentions Spring Break. And I'll smile, because it was a perfect Spring Break. Perfect because of him.

Straddling him, I work open his fly and reach inside. His abs tighten and a whimper fills the air. For a second he looks at me like I'm something. Something more. Something I'm not. And it's nice, feeling more than nothing for once.

I think about shimmying out of my shorts and riding him, but I don't. I've barely got my fingers wrapped around him when he flips me onto my back. I stare up at him, wide-eyed. Rare is it when I let a man take control, but he's looking like a guy possessed: hair askew, his green eyes almost black. I don't move as he pushes my shirt above my breasts and tucks one cup of my bra back to reveal a nipple. His lips touch the rosy peak, and my eyes meet the back of my head. His tongue circles and flicks, and his fingers find that warm, wet spot between my legs. I've never gotten off from a boy's touch. Not until now.

"You're so beautiful."

His breath is a heated whisper trailing down my body, and then his mouth is there, kissing me in a place I've never been kissed. My knees tremble, and my inner thighs touch his ears. For a second I worry I'm smothering him, but he groans into my pussy, and all worries are cast aside. The vibrations of his moan travel up my body. I feel his fingers slowly enter. Agonizingly slow. Tortuously slow. My toes curl. His fingers find my spot, and I come again, my hips an erratic jerk until I'm squealing in sensitivity from the lash of his tongue. He's good. Experienced. Taught by a beautiful blonde with bigger tits than mine. He crawls up my body, leaving a Bella scented kiss on my lips, but still I think of her, his girlfriend. A weird sense of jealousy squirms around inside, but he drives it out with the thrust of his body into mine.

We don't talk once we're done. He looks at me and I look at him. I fake a yawn and he pulls the covers over our legs. He stares at me a while. I feel it. Don't see it because my eyes are closed and my breaths have evened out. I've got lots of experience faking sleep.

Once his own breathing evens, I open my eyes and watch him sleep.

He's one of those easy sleepers, the kind of guy who falls asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow. He smiles with the rise and fall of his chest. Smiles in a whole new way, a way I haven't seen since I met him earlier tonight. I memorize the shape of his nose, the jut of his jaw. I touch the scruff running along his cheeks. Run my hand over his naked abdomen. Press my naked breasts against his flesh, and curl my legs around his. Still he doesn't move.

He's a bird trapped in a cage. That was my first thought when I saw him. In all his anger: clenched fists, reddened face, ready eyes as he prepared to stand up for my friend, he was still trapped. And sad. A caged bird whose wings had been clipped from birth.

I touch his chest, following the defined lines of his muscles. He's hard where I'm soft, physically, but I feel we're two different people on the inside. Not completely different. We're both lost. Both looking at each other when we're both awake like there's … something. And I don't want there to be anything, because it's not. It's sex.

He'd wrapped his arm around me before he fell asleep. And still it remains. Warm and embracing. Steady. Suffocating. Closing my eyes, I pretend he's my boyfriend and this is the place where I live, so far away from the crisp air of the mountains. I imagine slowing my old Chevy down to let an alligator cross the road, not a bear. I imagine complaining about tourists dirtying the beaches, not the parks. I imagine complaining about more condos and not cabins. I imagine anything far, far away from the reality of reality.

Then I open my eyes.

I kiss him before I grab my clothes, but he's fast asleep. He doesn't stir. Doesn't open his eyes and beg me to stay. He doesn't ask me anything about my family, or how long I'm in town. Doesn't ask where I'm staying or how he can hook up with me again before I head home. He sleeps, and it's for the best. I pull on my clothes, lingering at his door a little longer than I should. Before I leave I snap his photo with my phone. When I turn around, his sister is standing in the hallway staring at me with a look that tells me she understands. It's an odd thing, feeling connected to strangers, but that's how I feel tonight.

Maybe it's the booze.

"You want a drink?"

I nod at his sister, follow her down the hallway, and watch her mix the booze. She's a lesbian, I can tell. Not that they look a certain way, but her eyes linger on me the same manner a man's would. And it doesn't bother me. If anything it's flattering.

She pushes the drink across the bar, watches me drink it before she makes herself one. There's laughter outside, and we both glance out the patio doors. Alice sits next to Jasper, her face bathed in humor, his scrunched in confusion. He's different, I can tell. Different, but nice. Innocent. The kind of innocent Alice likes, but more childlike. She loves teaching them. Doesn't hurt that he's sexy as hell.

"What's so special about you?"

I look at his sister. Kate, was it? Her question wasn't said in an insulting way. Curious, but not insulting. I set the glass on the bar and look at her.

"What do you mean?"

"Edward doesn't do hookups. Hell, Rose is the only girlfriend he's ever had and they're still technically together. So I gotta ask, what makes you so special?"

The girl's blunt, and has that kid-sister annoyance an only child like me has always longed for.

"I'm not special. I'm just ..." I grapple for the right words. How I feel about him. How I'm sure he feels about me. "Something different."

"Nah, I'm not buying it." She downs her drink, wrinkling her face and shaking her head once it's swallowed. "Lots of girl have hit on my brother. He always brushes them off. Then you walk into a bar …"

I shrug and pick up an almost empty bottle of tequila. Unscrew the cap and take a swig. She watches, her glittery eyeshadow sparkling under the dim lights. There's glitter between her tits too. The glint catches my attention. She glistens like a naughty angel. I meet her eyes and she looks away.

"He's not like most guys his age," she says, twirling her drink between her hands.

I finish off what's left in the bottle, and stare at my friend through the glass. She's still sitting on the edge of the pool, her feet splashing the water. Jasper's at her side. She's leaning into him. Kissing him. And he's kissing her back.

"Inconsequential things mean something to him.," Kate says. "He'll try to find you."

I lick the tequila off my lips, finally ready to leave. "Good.

* * *

Preread by Jonesn.

Let's pretend a condom was involved. I hate writing condoms for some reason.


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